


Will, Meet Me

by Nikolai_Knight



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Nikolai_Knight
Summary: After Will fails to pick Hannibal up from the airport, an argument ensues.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 194
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Will, Meet Me

It was still warm inside. The fireplace roared in the foyer, where it crackled and popped with the logs slowly turned to black, and the tall flames flickered as the door opened wide, bringing inside a swirl of snowflakes dancing about the tiled floor. Will stared down at them, as they soon melted into a glistening sheen that caught the colours of the fire. He stared until his eyes lost focus. The suitcases stood alone by the side of the door, while the door swung in the breeze.

Hannibal quickly swept inside, while slamming the door shut. The loud bang echoed out about the small room, enough to jolt Will out of his daze, and – as he refocused his gaze – his eyes fell upon the small bundle in those toned arms. Lukas sat comfortably against the broad chest, while his tiny arms wrapped around his father’s neck. He bore flushed cheeks. The nose was also reddened, while his brown mess of hair was still wet and streaked with snow, and his mouth opened wide with a large yawn, before his red-brown eyes fell on Will.

The smile was bright and beautiful.

He threw himself towards Will, as he yelled out a high-pitched: _‘Papa’_! A stray foot caught Hannibal just beneath his ribs, where it knocked the wind painfully from him, and Will – with a barely hidden curse – barely found time to dive forward. He threw up his hands and caught Lukas, before he grew top-heavy and fell from Hannibal’s hold. Lukas was cool to the touch, although he warmed quickly and babbled endlessly, and soon he was struggling to get on the floor, as he pointed towards the living room. Will dropped him onto the floor.

Lukas ran with great speed into the lounge. Will darted towards the doorway, struggling to get out so much as a ‘wait’ by the time Lukas dived towards his toy-chest. The tiny hands threw open the lid, so that it obscured the clown-face painted onto the white wood, and they tore out a series of toys and books and games. They stopped only once they reached the book of blank paper, which was clumsily dropped onto the floor and opened with rough touches.

The crayons and felt-pens spilled out all over the floor, before Lukas took a red pen and started to draw with hand awkwardly clasping around the plastic, and his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth, as he concentrated on his latest creation. A warm smile broke across Will, as he dropped against the wooden frame and folded his arms. The sound of a rustling fabric echoed behind him, as Hannibal dropped his coat and scarf onto the coat-stand, and Will turned to catch the stern and cold expression, as those eyes avoided looking in his direction. Will sighed.

“I said I’m sorry, Hannibal.”

Hannibal continued to avoid looking in his direction, even as he strode into the lounge and headed towards their son, who appeared to be drawing a tall blond person, and he stopped only to remove Lukas’ coat, which brought loud cries and whines from Lukas. He fought back with the strength known only to a tired and stubborn toddler, but – just as tears threatened to fall – the coat was finally removed and he could return to his drawing. Hannibal muttered:

“We waited for over an hour.”

He walked over to the sofa and sat down. Hannibal spread out the coat over the arm of the sofa, so that it could dry and avoid creases, and crossed his leg over the knee, before he clasped his hands over his thigh. Will rolled his eyes, before he joined Hannibal on the sofa. He kept his eyes moving between husband and child, although Hannibal’s eyes never once left Lukas, and the newly decorated room still bore the faint scent of fresh paint, making Lukas’ nose wrinkle.

The two leather chairs remained in place by the window, but the full-length curtains were replaced by drop-down blinds, and the ornate decorations on the various desks were long gone, with the drinks cabinet replaced entirely by the hand-carved toy-chest. The main table was moved to the side of the room, which left an unobstructed view of the fireplace, and even that was covered now with an intricate gate that Will still struggled to open. Lukas scratched at his brown, curly hair with a pen, which left a long blue mark along his cheek. Will smiled and said:

“I told you to tell me if you needed a lift.”

“I believe I did,” said Hannibal.

“No, your text said: ‘Spoke to Alana. Will pick us up. All my love x’.” Will rolled his eyes. “You made it sound like _Alana_ was picking you up from the airport! If you expected me to somehow infer you were addressing me by name, maybe throw a comma in there? ‘Will – comma – pick me up’. I know you think highly of me, but I’m not exactly psychic.”

“No, clearly not, but why would I speak in such stilted tones? I was not aware that ‘will pick me up’ was a grammatically correct sentence without a subject before the verb. I would thus assume that the comma can be inferred to be missing by mistake, but – alas – I am no native speaker.”

“If that’s the case, where was the subject in the first sentence?”

“I fail to understand the relevance,” said Hannibal.

“Well, if you missed a subject in the first sentence, it would be natural to assume a lack of subject in the second sentence, as you’ve established then a pattern. I’ll also add that even if I _were_ meant to somehow infer a request, it’s still worded like a demand: ‘Will, pick me up’. You could have at least thrown a ‘please’ in there for one who hates rudeness.”

Hannibal slowly turned his head. The sofa left little room between them, so that his knee brushed against Will’s with a soft touch, and – as they angled their bodies toward one another – Hannibal dropped his arm along the back of the sofa, so that his long fingers brushed against the wool of Will’s sweater. The warmth from the fireplace had a great effect on Lukas, who returned to his regular complexion and slowed down in his incoherent and babbling speech, as he ran his hands over his eyes with low yawns. He drew more lines on his face in the process.

“It was not my intent for it to sound like a command,” said Hannibal. “It is very difficult to handle a three-year old that is hyperactive from a fourteen-hour indirect flight, and while attempting to keep an eye upon three large suitcases. If I used shortcuts, it was due to a necessity to be succinct and not out of the intent to be curt. I apologise for that alone.”

“Okay, and I’m sorry, too. I still had no way to _know_ what you meant.”

“You would argue a comma would alter the meaning that much?”

“I mean . . . _yeah_.” Will shrugged. “The example we were taught at school was: ‘let’s eat, Grandma’. You add a comma and it’s a lovely invitation to a meal, but you take out the comma and suddenly it’s an act of inter-generational cannibalism. Okay, those two things could be one and the same, but ultimately the implications are highly different, all for want of a comma.”

Will ran a hand over his face and hair. He slid further down onto the sofa, while the pad of Hannibal’s thumb rubbed lightly against the back of his neck, and he dropped his hands onto the swell of his stomach, while he closed his eyes from behind his glasses. Hannibal slid closer, until their legs touched and his arm rested along his shoulders. The hand rested instead on his upper arm, where a long finger traced incoherent patterns along his sleeve, and the light pressure was enough to coax him into leaning against Hannibal. He rested his head against the broad chest.

“You’ve been away for two weeks,” muttered Will. “Are we _really_ going to argue about poor grammar? I thought you might tell me all about how Lukas got on in Lithuania, or at least comment on the redecorating job . . . I left the nursery for when you returned. We still have a few months until Daina is ready to be born, so I didn’t see much need for a rush.”

“You consider _my_ grammar to be poor?”

“Please, I can barely read your writing at the best of times.”

“I believe it would be called ‘short-hand’,” sighed Hannibal. “In any case, we are arguing again. I still maintain that you could have rung me, were you at all confused by the intent of the message, and that I would have been saved the difficulties of arranging a taxi, especially with our aforementioned son being so over-stimulated and refusing to settle at an airport.”

“Fine, I promise to make it up to you later. I’m not far enough along that I need to worry about physical exertion . . . I’ll be the one to bath, bed, and tend to Lukas, and after I’ll come tend to you, okay? Unless there’s somewhere else that you need to be.”

“You ended that sentence on a preposition, Will.”

Will pulled back. He narrowed his eyes at Hannibal, who narrowed his eyes back. The smile that Hannibal bore was made eerie by the low lighting and flickering embers of the fire, and it cast dark shadows about the age lines, as lightning struck from outside and illuminated the room. The quickening of Will’s heart echoed about his ears, deafening all other sounds, and he brought his arm to the back of the sofa, where it rested over Hannibal’s and his hand held onto him with a firm touch. Will leaned closer. Hannibal licked at his lips, but a loud voice chirped:

“Papa, I drew this!”

They drew away. Will blushed, as he cast his eyes back to Luka. He ran towards them, while he held a sheet of paper before him in both hands, and – vision blocked by his artwork – Lukas tripped and struggled to stand, before he finished his journey to them. Lukas jumped up and down before them. He handed them the paper. Will and Hannibal each took an edge in hand, as they looked down at the drawing coloured with crayon and pens.

The figure scrawled on the left was an approximation of Hannibal, even as the arms seemed to extend from the head, and the one on the right looked similar to Will, although the beard appeared to cover the entirety of the face. The small figure between them held one hand of each parent, while the badly written words lined the bottom: _‘I luv yew’._ Tears pricked as Will’s eyes, as he gently traced a finger over the words. A kick from within stole his breath. He reached for Hannibal’s hand and squeezed, before gently handing the picture back to Lukas.

“It’s very beautiful,” said Hannibal.

“You did a great job, Lukas. It’s your best picture ever!”

Hannibal leaned down and scooped up Lukas. He hugged him tight, even as Lukas squealed and laughed and wafted his picture at him, and Hannibal rocked him with gentle movements, before Will leaned over and pressed dozens of kisses to the rosy cheeks. They continued to hug and kiss at Lukas, until he called out: ‘I want down’. Hannibal let loose his grip, enough that Lukas could slide down onto the floor, and – with his previous speed – he ran back to his toy-chest, where he dropped his picture to one side and worked on another. Will chuckled.

“I see you didn’t criticise his grammar,” teased Hannibal.

“Technically, the grammar was fine,” said Will. “It was the spelling that was off.”

Hannibal delivered a pointed look. Will laughed, as he slid his hands along the broad chest, and finally took a hold of cheeks covered in stubble, before he pressed a lingering kiss against soft and plump lips. A blush broke over his cheeks, as he pressed their foreheads together. Hannibal pecked again at his lips . . . his cheek, his chin, his neck . . . soon Will’s arms were thrown around his husband’s shoulders. They laughed and kissed and held each other against the sofa, as Will cuddled against Hannibal and gazed over to their son who looked so contented . . .

“It’s good to have you back,” said Will.

“It’s good to be back, my love.”


End file.
